Norco,Have YOU heard of us?
by C-Sharp
Summary: The story of a trumpet player, and her high school marching band career. Going to a school who has never accomplished anything.


Hmm....where to begin....ahh........................*fade into dream world sort of state*  
  
It was about the eigth week of summer vacation, and the whole time I had been looking forward to band camp. I was an incoming froshman, and I had no clue as to what to expect. All I knew was that I had to try my best, and kick the butts of all of the other trumpet players, even though they were all experienced. Apparently, talent wasn't an issue in deciding who played what part, it was seniority. By about the third or fourth day, I knew I would be the trumpet section leader next year.  
  
As the second week of August approached, I became more and more nervous because I didn't think I would be able to march and play at the same time. I think everyone gets that thought into their head when they first start out. Not only did it feel like I couldn't march, but none of the rest of the band could either! Man did they suck! I didn't know it, but I was in for the worst year in my marching career this year.  
  
The band director was a lovely lady, with a great personality. I guess the seniors didn't really like her...I think it was because she was new to them...It was only her second year teaching. Last year was no better than this either. Have you ever recieved the "P" word from a judge? Or how about "I really hope you're having fun, because that's really what it's all about..." They lied to us. We had NO potential...and it's not about having fun, it's about winning the tournament! And that's what I expected. That's not what I got though. And so began the first days of the rest of my life.  
  
*****  
  
I was totally unprepared for the first day of camp. I had a water bottle, that was insufficient, the shorts that I wore were an ill choice for one who is to march, and I was extremely nervous about my playing. The first music that was handed to us was our fight song and the opener to our show. This year, we were playing John Rutter's "Gloria." A terrible pick for a band with our instrumentation. I was so nervous, that I couldn't sight read the music, and I made a fool of myself infront of the other trumpets. There were only four of us, which is a VERY sorry number for that instrument. The current section leader was hot-tempered, and incompetent. So what, he could play a high C...I could play that high since the fifth grade...but I kept that to myself. I didn't feel completely alone, because there was another girl in the section, but she had little confidence, and I saw her as a weak spot. And talk about tone. Have you ever heard a duck get run over by a semi? Well, we sounded worse than that. And none of them had an ear capable of converting their pitch even close to the person next to them...they were like brass oboes...  
  
So we practiced way too much, and we continued to suck, as a band. You know that "One band, one sound" thing? Yeah, well we had that. It just sounded like a cow being devoured by a lion. And our marching? Ha! We looked liked a convoy of ants that were blocked from their path and had to run around all crazy like. There were points in the show where I had to march double time at a six-to-five at an insane tempo. At just about that point at our first competition, I realized that my shoe was untied. Luckily, I didn't fall. I was too busy trying to avoid the field judges(whom I despise with a passion) to fall. Ok, I knew people wouldn't clap or cheer for us at football games, but no applause from the stands at a band competition? What is with that?! Anyway, I had learned to tell wether or not we had done bad or crappy by the look on our director's face. The right side of her face sort of twitched, and a blank stare came over her, as if she were thinking to herself, "What did I do wrong?"  
  
We were dragged to six competitions, and I think we placed at three. We got 4th out of 4, 5th out of 5, and 9th out of 11. Mostly just sympathy trophies. Ouch.  
  
Can you see where I'm going with this? I don't think you want to know more. I wouldn't. So you can read on if' you'd like, and if you do, I think you'd be surprised at what happened the next year when I was a sophomore. 


End file.
